 | The Honest Whore, With The Humours of the Patient Man, and the Longing Wife |  |
SCÆNA PRIMA.
Enter at one doore a Funerall, a Coronet lying on the Hearse, Scutchins and Garlands hanging on the sides, attended by Gasparo Trebatzi, Duke of Millan, Castruchio, Sinezi. Pioratto Fluello, and others at an other doore. Enter Hipolito in discontented apparance: Matheo a Gentleman his friend, labouring to hold him backe.Duke
Behold, yon Commet shewes his head againe;
Twice hath he thus at crosse-turnes throwne on vs
Prodigious lookes: Twice hath he troubled
The waters of our eyes. See, hee's turnde wilde;
Go on in Gods name.
All
On afore there ho
Duke
Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides
Your weapons to keepe backe the desprate boy
From doing violence to the innocent dead.
Hipolito.
I pry thee deere Matheo.
Matheo.
Come, y'are mad.
Hip:
I do arest thee murderer: set downe.
Villaines set downe that sorrow, tis all mine.
Duke
I do beseech you all, for my bloods sake
Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath
Ioine in confederacie with your weapons points;
If he proceede to vexe vs, let your swordes
Seeke out his bowells: funerall griefe loathes words.
All
Set on.
Hip.
Set downe the body.
Mat:
O my Lord?
Y'are wrong: i'th open streete? you see shees dead.
Hip:
I know shee is not dead.
Duke
Franticke yong man,
Wilt thou beleeve these gentlemen? pray speake:
That heere are shed for her: If to behold
Those roses withered, that set out her cheekes:
That paire of starres that gave her body light,
Darkned and dim for ever: All those rivers
That fed her veines with warme and crimson streames,
Frozen and dried vp: If these be signes of death,
Then is she dead. Thou vnreligious youth,
Art not ashamde to emptie all these eyes
Of funerall teares, (a debt due to the dead,)
As mirth is to the living: Sham'st thou not
To have them stare on thee? harke, thou art curst
Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speake.
Hip.
My Lord.
Duke
What wouldst thou have? is she not dead?
Hip.
Oh, you ha killd her by your crueltie.
Duke
Admit I had, thou killst her now againe;
And art more savage then a barbarous Moore.
Hip.
Let me but kisse her pale and bloodlesse lip.
Duke
O fie, fie, fie.
Hip.
Or if not touch her, let me looke on her.
Math.
As you regard your honour.
Hip.
Honour! smoake.
Math.
Or if you lov'de hir living, spare her now.
Duke
I, well done sir, you play the gentleman:
Steale hence: tis nobly done: away: Ile ioyne
My force to yours, to stop this violent torment:
Passe on.
Exeunt with funerall.
Hip.
Matheo, thou doost wound me more.
Math.
I give you phisicke noble friend, not wounds,
Duke
Oh well said, well done, a true gentleman:
Alacke, I know the sea of lovers rage
Comes rushing with so strong a tide: it beates
And beares downe all respects of life, of honour,
Of friends, of foes, forget her gallant youth.
Hip.
Forget her?
Duke
Na, na, be but patient:
For why deaths hand hath sued a strict divorse
What but faire sand-dust are earths purest formes:
Queenes bodies are but trunckes to put in wormes.
Mathew
Speake no more sentences, my good lord, but slip
hence; you see they are but fits, ile rule him I warrant ye. I, so,
treade gingerly, your Grace is heere somewhat too long already.
Sbloud the jeast were now, if having tane some knockes
o'th pate already, he should get loose againe, and like a madde
Oxe, tosse my new blacke cloakes into the kennell. I must humour
his lordship: my lord Hipolito, is it in your stomacke to
goe to dinner?
Hipolito
Where is the body?
Matheo
The body, as the Duke spake very wisely, is gone
to be wormd.
Hipolito
I cannot rest, ile meete it at next turne,
Ile see how my love lookes,
Mathæo holds him ins armes
Mathæo
How your love lookes? worse than a scarre-crowe,
wrastle not with me: the great felow gives the fall for a duckat.
Hipolito
I shall forget my selfe.
Mathæo
Pray do so, leave your selfe behinde your selfe, and
go whither you will. Sfoote, doe you long to have base roags
that maintaine a saint Anthonies fire in their noses (by nothing
but two peny Ale) make ballads of you? if the Duke had but so
much mettle in him, as is in a coblers awle, he would ha beene a
vext thing: he and his traine had blowne you vp, but that their
powlder haz taken the wet of cowards: youle bleed three pottles
of Aligant, by this light, if you follow em, and then wee
shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have Surgeons roll
thee vplike a babie in swadling clowts.
Hipolito
What day is to day, Mathæo?
Mathæo
Yea mary, this is an easie question: why today is,
let me see, thurseday.
Hipolito
Oh, thurseday.
Mathæo
Heeres a coile for a dead commoditie, sfoote women
when they are alive are but dead commodities, for you
shall have one woman lie vpon many mens hands.
Hipolito
Shee died on monday then.
Mathæo
And thats the most villainous day of all the weeke
to die in: and she was wel, and eate a messe of water-grewel on
Hipolito
I, it cannot be,
Such a bright taper should burne out so soone.
Mathæo
O yes my Lord, so soone: why I ha knowne them,
that at dinner have bin aswell, and had so much health, that they
were glad to pledge it, yet before three a clocke have bin found
dead drunke.
Hipolito
On thurseday buried! and on monday died,
Quicke haste hirlady: sure her winding sheete
Was laide out fore her bodie, and the wormes
That now must feast with her, were even bespoke,
And solemnely invited like strange guests.
Mathæo
Strange feeders they are indeede my lord, and like
your jeaster or yong Courtier, will enter vpon any mans trencher
without bidding.
Hipolito
Curst be that day for ever that robd her
Of breath, and me of blisse, hencefoorth let it stand
Within the Wizardes booke (the kalendar)
Markt with a marginall finger, to be chosen
By theeves, by villaines, and blacke murderers,
As the best day for them to labour in.
If hence foorth this adulterous bawdy world
Be got with childe with treason, sacrilege,
Atheisme, rapes, treacherous friendship, periurie,
Slaunder, (the beggars sinne) lies, (sinne of fooles)
Or anie other damnd impieties,
On Monday let em be delivered:
I sweare to thee Mathæo, by my soule,
Heereafter weekely on that day ile glew
Mine eie-lids downe, because they shall not gaze
On any female cheeke. And being lockt vp
In my close chamber, there ile meditate
On nothing but my Infælices end,
Or on a dead mans scull drawe out mine owne.
Mathæo
Youle doe all these good workes now every monday,
because it is so bad: but I hope vppon tuesday morning I
shall take you with a wench.
Hipolito
If ever whilst fraile bloud through my veins runne,
Save her thats dead: or that I loosely flie
To'th shoare of any other wafting eie,
Let me not prosper heaven. I will be true,
Even to her dust and ashes: could her tombe
Stand whilst I livde so long, that it might rot,
That should fall downe, but she be ne're forgot.
Mathæo
If you have this strange monster, Honestie, in
your belly, why so Iig-makers and chroniclers shall picke somthing
out of you: but and I smell not you and a bawdy house
out within these tenne daies, let my nose be as bigge as an English
bag-pudding: Ile followe your lordship, though it be to
the place aforenamed.
Exeunt.
Enter Fustigo in some fantastike Sea-suite at one doore, a Porter meets him at another.
Fust.
How now porter, will she come?
Porter
If I may trust a woman sir, she will come.
Fust.
Theres for thy paines, godamercy, if ever I stand in
neede of a wench that will come with a wet finger, Porter, thou
shalt earne my mony before anie Clarissimo in Millane; yet so
god sa mee shees mine owne sister body and soule, as I am a
christian Gentleman; farewell, ile ponder till shee come: thou
hast bin no bawde in fetching this woman, I assure thee.
Porter
No matter if I had sir, better men than Porters are
bawdes.
Fust.
O God sir, manie that have borne offices. But Porter,
art sure thou wentst into a true house?
Porter
I thinke so, for I met with no thieves.
Fust.
Nay but arte sure it was my sister Viola.
Porter
I am sure by all superscriptions it was the partie you ciphered.
Fust.
Not very tall.
Porter
Nor very lowe, a midling woman.
Fust.
Twas she faith, twas she, a prettie plumpe cheeke like mine.
Porter
At a blush, alittle very much like.
Fust.
Gods so, I woud not for a duckat she had kickt vp hir
heeles, for I ha spent an abomination this voyage, marie I
did it amongst sailers and gentlemen: theres alittle modicum
Porter
I am in your debt sir, God preserve you.
Exit.
Enter Viola.
Fu.
Not so neither, good porter, gods lid, yonder she coms.
Sister Viola, I am glad to see you stirring: its newes to have mee
heere, ist not sister?
Viola
Yes trust me: I wondred who should be so bolde to
send for me, you are welcome to Millan brother.
Fust.
Troth sister I heard you were married to a verie rich
chuffe, and I was very sorie for it, that I had no better clothes,
and that made me send: for you knowe wee Millaners love to
strut vpon Spanish leather. And how does all our friends?
Viola
Very well; you ha travelled enough now, I trowe, to
sowe your wilde oates.
Fust.
A pox on em; wilde oates, I ha not an oate to throw
at a horse, troth sister I ha sowde my oates, and reapt 200.
duckats if I had em, heere, mary I must intreate you to lend me
some thirty or forty till the ship come, by this hand ile discharge
at my day, by this hand.
Viola
These are your olde oaths.
Fust.
Why sister, doe you thinke ile forsweare my hand?
Viola
Well, well, you shall have them: put your selfe into
better fashion, because I must imploy you in a serious matter.
Fust.
Ile sweate like a horse if I like the matter.
Viola
You ha cast off all your olde swaggering humours.
Fust.
I had not sailde a league in that great fish-pond (the
sea) but I cast vp my very gall.
Viola
I am the more sory, for I must imploy a true swaggeter.
Fust.
Nay by this yron sister, they shall finde I am powlder
and touch-box, if they put fire once into me.
Viola
Then lend me your eares.
Fust.
Mine eares are yours deere sister.
Viola
I am married to a man that haz wealth enough, and
wit enough.
Fust.
A linnen Draper I was tolde sister.
Viola
Very true, a grave Citizen; I want nothing that a
wife can wish from a husband: but heeres the spite, hee haz
Fust.
Gods my life, hee's a verie mandrake, or else (God
blesse vs) one a these whiblins, and thats woorse, and then
all the children that he gets lawfully of your body sister, are
bastards by a statute.
Vio:
O you runne over me too fast brother, I have heard it
often said, that hee who cannot be angry, is no man. I am sure
my husband is a man in print, for all things else, save onely in
this, no tempest can move him.
Fist.
Slid, would he had beene at sea with vs, hee should ha
beene movde and movde agen, for Ile be sworne la, our drunken
ship reelde like a Dutchman.
Viola
No losse of goods can increase in him a wrinckle, no
crabbed language make his countenance sowre, the stubburnnes
of no servant shake him, he haz no more gall in him than a
Dove, no more sting than an Ant: Musitian will he never bee,
(yet I finde much musicke in him,) but he loves no frets, and
is so free from anger, that many times I am ready to hire off my
tongue, because it wants that vertue which all womens tongues
have (to anger their husbands:) Brother, mine can by no thunder:
turne him into a sharpenes.
Fust.
Belike his blood sister, is well brewd then.
Viola
I protest to thee Fustigo, I love him most affectionately,
but I know not—I ha such a tickling within
mee—such a strange longing; nay, verily I doo
long.
Fustigo
Then y'are with childe sister, by all signes and
tokens; nay, I am partly a Phisitian, and partly something
else. I ha read Albertus Magnus, and Aristotles emblemes.
Viola
Y'are wide ath bow hand still brother: my longings
are not wanton, but wayward: I long to have my patient husband
eate vp a whole Porcupine, to the intent, the bristling
quills may sticke about his lippes like a flemmish mustacho,
and be shot at me: I shall be leaner then the new Moone, vnlesse
I can make him horne mad.
Fust.
Sfoote halfe a quarter of an houre does that make him
a cuckold.
Puh, he would count such a cut no vnkindenes.
Fust.
The honester Cittizen he, then make him drunke and
cut off his beard.
Viola
Fie, fie, idle, idle, hee's no French-man, to fret at the
losse of a little scalde haire. No brother, thus it shall be, you must
be secret.
Fu.
As your Mid-wife I protest sister, or a Barber-surgeon.
Viola
Repaire to the Tortoys heere in S. Christophers streete,
I will send you mony, turne your selfe into a brave man: insteed
of the armes of your mistris, let your sword and your militarie
scarfe hang about your necke.
Fust:
I must have a great Horse-mans French feather too
sister.
Viola
O, by any meanes, to shew your light head, else your
hat will sit like a coxcombe: to be briefe, you must bee in all
points a most terrible wide-mouth'd swaggerer.
Fust.
Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.
Viola
Resort then to our shop, and (in my husbands presence)
kisse me, snatch rings, jewells, or any things so you give it backe
agen brother in secret.
Fust:
By this hand sister.
Viola
Sweare as if you came but new from knighting.
Fust.
Nay, Ile sweare after 400. a yeare.
Viola
Swagger worse then a Lievetenant among fresh-water
souldiers, call me your love, your yngle, your coosen, or so;
but sister at no hand.
Fust.
No, no, It shall be coosen, or rather cuz, thats the gulling
word betweene the Citizens wives & their olde dames, that
man em to the garden; to call you one a mine aunts, sister, were
as good as call you arrant whoore: no, no, let me alone to cosen
you rarely.
Viola
Haz heard I have a brother, but never saw him, therefore
put on a good face.
Fust.
The best in Millan I warrant.
Viola
Take vp wares, but pay nothing, rifle my bosome, my
pocket, my purse, the boxes for mony to dice with all; but brother,
you must give all backe agen in secret.
By this welkin that heere roares? I will, or else
let me never know what a secret is: why sister do you thinke
Ile cunni-catch you, when you are my coosen? Gods my life,
then I were a starke Asse, if I fret not his guts, beg me for a
foole.
Viola
Be circumspect, and do so then, farewell.
Fust.
The Tortoys sister? Ile stay there; forty duckats.
Exit.
Viola
Thither Ile send: this law can none deny,
Women must have their longings, or they die.
Exit.
Gasparo the Duke, Doctor Benedicke, two servants.
Duke
Give charge that none do enter, locke the doores,
And fellowes, what your eyes and eares receave,
Vpon your lives trust not the gadding aire
To carry the least part of it: the glasse, the houre-glasse.
Doctor
Heere my Lord.
Duke
Ah, tis meere spent.
But Doctor Benedick, does your Art speake truth?
Art sure the soporiferous streame will ebbe,
And leave the Christall banks of her white body
(Pure as they were at first) iust at the houre?
Doctor
Iust at the houre my Lord.
Duke
Vncurtaine her.
Softly sweete Doctor: what a coldish heate
Spreads over all her bodie.
Doctor
Now it workes:
The vitall spirits that by a sleepie charme
Were bound vp fast, and threw an icie rust
On her exterior parts, now gin to breake:
Trouble her not my Lord.
Duke
Some stooles, you calld
For musicke, did you not? Oh ho, it speakes,
It speakes, watch sirs her waking, note those sands,
Doctor sit downe: A Dukedome that should wey mine
Owne downe twice, being put into one scale:
And that fond desperate boy Hipolito,
Making the weight vp, should not (at my hands)
Buy her i'th tother, were her stare more light
Than hers, who makes a dowrie vp with almes.
Ere he shall marrie her: I must confesse,
Hipolito is nobly borne, a man;
Did not mine enemies blood boile in his veines,
Whom I would court to be my sonne in law?
But Princes whose high spleenes for empery swell,
Are not with easie arte made paralell.
2 Ser.
She wakes my Lord.
Duke
Looke Doctor Benedick.
I charge you on your lives maintaine for truth,
What ere the Doctor or my selfe averre
For you shall beare her hence to Bergaine
Inf.
Oh God, what fearefull dreames?
Doctor
Lady.
Inf.
Ha.
Duke
Girle.
Why Infalisha, how ist now, ha, speake?
Inf.
I'me well, what makes this Doctor heere? I'me well.
Duke
Thou wert not so even now, sicknes pale hand
Laid hold on thee even in the deadst of feasting,
And when a cap crownde with thy lovers health
Had toucht thy lips, a sencible cold dew
Stood on thy cheekes, as if that death had wept
To see such beautie alterd.
Inf.
I remember
I sate at banquet, but felt no such change.
Duke
Thou hast forgot then how a messenger
Came wildely in with this vnfavorie newes
That he was dead.
Inf.
What messenger? whoes dead?
Duke
Hipolito, alacke, wring not thy hands.
Inf.
I saw no messenger, heard no such newes,
Doctor
Trust me you did sweete Lady.
Duke
La you now.
2 Servants
Yes indeede Madam.
Duke
La you now, tis well God knowes.
Inf.
You ha slaine him, and now you'le murder mee.
Duke
Good Infælishæ vexe not thus thy selfe,
Of this the bad report before did strike
So coldly to the heart, that the swift currents
Of life were all frozen vp.
It is vntrue,
Tis most vntrue, O most vnnaturall father?
Duke
And we had much to do by Arm best cunning,
To fetch life backe againe.
Doctor
Most certaine Lady.
Duke
Why la you now, you'le not beleeve mee, friends,
Sweate we not all, had we not much to do?
2 Ser.
Yes indeede my Lord, much.
Duke
Death drew such fearefull pictures in thy face,
That were Hipolito alive agen,
Ile kneele and woo the noble gentleman
To be thy husband now I fore repent
My sharpenes to him and his family;
Nay, do not weepe for him, we all must die:
Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seene
His lively presence, haunts her, does it not?
Doctor
Doubtlesse my Lord it does.
Duke
It does, it does.
Therefore sweete girle thou shalt to Bergamo.
Inf.
Even where you will, in any place theres woe.
Duke
A Coach is ready, Bergamo doth stand
In a most wholesome aire, sweete walkes, theres diere,
I, thou shalt hunt and send vs venison.
Which like some gods in the Caprian groves,
Thine owne faire hand shall strike, sirs, you shall teach her
To stand, and how to shoote, I, she shall hunt:
Cast off this sorrow. In girle, and prepare
This night to ride away to Bergamo.
Inf.
O most vnhappie maid.
Exit.
Duke
Follow it close.
No words that she was buried on your lives,
Or that her ghost walkes now after shees dead;
Ile hang you if you name a funerall.
1 Ser.
He speake Greeke my Lord, ere I speake that deadly
word.
(Exeunt.
2 Ser.
And Ile speake Welch which is harder then Greek.
Duke
Away looke to her Doctor Benedick
Did you observe how her complexion altred
Doctor
It may my Lord.
Duke
May? how? I wish his death.
Doctor
And you may have your wish; say but the word,
And tis a strong Spell to rip vp his grave:
I have good knowledge with Hipolito;
He calls me friend, Ile creepe into his bosome,
And sting him there to death; poison can doo't.
Duke
Performe it; Ile create thee halfe mine heire.
Doctor
It shall be done, although the fact be fowle.
Duke
Greatnes hides sin, the guilt vpon my soule.
Exeunt
Enter Castruchio, Pioratto, and Fluello.
Cast:
Signior Pioratto, signior Fuello, shalls be merry? shalls
play the wags now?
Flu:
I, any thing that may beget the childe of laughter.
Cast:
Truth I have a pretty sportive conceit new crept into
my braine, will moove excellent mirth.
Pio:
Lets ha't, lets ha't, and where shall the sceane of mirth lie?
Cast.
At signior Candidoes house, the patient man, nay the
monstrous patient man; they say his bloud is immoveable, that
he haz taken all patience from a man, and all constancie from
a woman.
Flu.
That makes so many whoores nowadayes.
Cast.
I, and so many knaves too.
Pio.
Well sir.
Cast.
To conclude, the reporte goes, hees so milde, so affable,
so suffering, that nothing indeede can moove him: now do
but thinke what sport it will be to make this fellow (the mirror
of patience) as angry, as vext, and as maddeas an English cuckolde.
Flu.
O, twere admirable mirth, that: but how wilt be done
signior?
Cast.
Let me alone, I have a tricke, a conceit, a thing, a device
will sting him yfaith, if he have but a thimblefull of blood
ins belly, or a spleene not so bigge as a taverne token.
Pio.
Thou stirre him? thou moove him? thou anger him?
alas, I know his approoved temper: thou vex him? why hee
haz a patience above mans injuries: thou maiest sooner raise a
you instance for it. This wonderfully temperd signior Candido
vppon a time invited home to his house certaine Neapolitane
lordes of curious taste, and no meane pallats, conjuring his wife
of all loves, to prepare cheere fitting for such honourable trencher-men.
Shee (just of a womans nature, covetous to trie the
vttermost of vexation, and thinking at last to gette the starte of
his humour) willingly neglected the preparation, and became
vnfurnisht, not onely of dainty, but of ordinary dishes. He (according
to the mildenesse of his breast) entertained the lordes,
and with courtly discourse beguiled the time (as much as a Citizen
might doe:) to conclude, they were hungry lordes, for
there came no meate in; their stomackes were plainely gulld,
and their teeth deluded, and (if anger could have seizd a man)
there was matter enough yfaith to vex any citizen in the world,
if hee were not too much made a foole by his wife.
Flu.
I, Ile sweare for't: sfoote, had it beene my case, I should
he playde mad trickes with my wife and family: first I woulde
ha spitted the men, stewd the maides, and bak't the mistresse,
and so served them in.
Pio.
Why twould ha tempred any bloud but his,
And thou to vex him? thou to anger him
With some poore shallow jeast?
Cast.
Sbloud signior Pioratto, (you that disparage my conceit)
ile wage a hundred duckats vppon the head on't, that it
mooves him, fretts him, and galles him.
Pio.
Done, tis a lay, ioyne golls on't: witnes signior Fluello.
Cast.
Witnes: tis done:
Come, follow mee: the house is not farre off.
Ile thrust him from his humour, vex his breast,
And winne a hundred duckats by one ieast.
Exeunt.
Enter Candidoes wife, George, and two prentices in the shoppe.
Wife
Come, you put vp your wares in good order heere, do
you not thinke you, one peece cast this way, another that way?
you had neede have a patient maister indeede.
I, ile be sworne, for we have a curst mistrie.
Wife
You mumble, do you mumble? I would your maister
or I could be a note more angry: for two patient folkes in a
house spoyle all the servants that ever shall come vnder them.
1. prentise
You patient! I, so is the divell when he is horne
madde.
Enter Castruchio, Fluello, and Pioratto.
All three
Gentlemen, what do you lacke? what ist you buy?
See fine hollands, fine cambrickes, fine lawnes.
George
What ist you lacke?
2. prentise
What ist you buy?
Cast.
Wheres signior Candido thy maister?
George
Faith signior, hees a little negotiated, hee'le appeare presently.
Cast.
Fellow, lets see a lawne, a choice one sitra.
George
The best in all Millan, Gentlemen, and this is the
peece. I can fit you Gentlemen with fine callicoes too for dublets,
the onely sweete fashion now, most delicate and courtlie, a
meeke gentle calico, cut vpon two double affable taffataes, ah,
most neate, feate, and vnmatchable.
Flu.
A notable-voluble tong de villaine.
Pio.
I warrant this fellow was never begot without much
prating.
Cast.
What, and is this shee saist thou?
George
I, and the purest shee that ever you fingerd since
you were a gentleman: looke how even she is, look how cleane
she is, ha, as even as the browe of Cinthiæ, and as cleane as your
sonnes and heires when they ha spent all.
Cast.
Puh, thou talkst, pox on't tis rough.
George
How? is she rough? but if you bid pox on't sir, twill
take away the roughnesse presently.
Flu.
Ha signior; haz he fitted your French curse?
George
Looke you Gentleman, heeres an other, compare
them I pray, compara Virgilium cum Homero, compare virgins
with harlots.
Cast.
Puh, I ha seene better, and as you terme them, evener
and cleaner.
You may see further for your mind, but trust me
you shall not find better for your body.
Enter Candido.
Cast.
O here he comes, lets make as tho we passe,
Come, come, weele try in some other shop.
Cand.
How now? what's the matter?
Geor.
The gentlemen find fault with this lawne, fall out
with it, and without a cause too.
Cand.
Without a cause!
And that makes you to let'em passe away,
Ah, may I craue a word with you gentlemen?
Flu.
He calls vs.
Cast.
Makes the better for the iest.
Cand.
I pray come neare, y'are very welcome gallants,
Pray pardon my mans rudenesse, for I feare me
Ha's talkt aboue a prentice with you, Lawnes!
Looke you kind gentlemen-this! no: I this:
Take this vpon my honest-dealing faith,
To be a true weaue, not too hard, nor slack,
But eene as farre from falshood, as from black.
Cast.
Well, how doe you rate it?
Cand.
Very conscionably, 18. s.a yard.
Cast.
That's too deare: how many yards does the whole
piece containe thinke you?
Cand.
Why, some 17. yardes I thinke, or there abouts,
How much would serue your turne? I pray.
Cast.
Why let me see-would it were better too.
Cand.
Truth, tis the best in Millan at fewe words.
Cast.
Well: let me haue then-a whole penny-worth.
Cand.
Ha, ha:y'are a merry gentleman.
Cast.
A pennorth I say.
Cand.
Of lawne!
Cast
Of lawne? I of lawne, a pennorth, sblood dost not
heare? a whole pennorth, are you deaffe?
Cand.
Deaffe? no Syr: but I must tell you,
Our wares doe seldome meete such customers.
Cast.
Nay, and you and your lawnes be so squemish,
Fare you well.
Cand.
Pray stay, a word, pray Signior: for what purpose
is it I beseech you?
Sblood, whats that to you: Ile haue a penny worth.
Can.
A penny-worth! why you shall: Ile serue you presently.
2. Pren.
Sfoot, a penny-worth mistris!
Mist.
A penny-worth! call you these Gentlemen?
Cast.
No, no: not there.
Can.
What then kinde Gentle-man? what at this corner here?
Cast.
Nor nor there neither.
Ile haue it iust in the middle, or els not.
Can.
Iust in the middle: ha you shall too: what?
Haue you a single penny?
Cast.
Yes, heeres one.
Can.
Lend it me I pray.
Flu.
An exlent followed iest.
Wife
What will he spoile the Lawne now?
Can.
Patience, good wife.
Wife
I, that patience makes a foole of you: Gentlemen,
you might ha found some other Citizen to haue made a
kind gull on, besides my husband.
Can.
Pray Gentlemen take her to be a woman,
Do not regard her language.—O kinde soule:
Such words will driue away my customers,
Wife
Customers with a murrē: call you these customers?
Can.
Patience, good wife.
Wife
Pax, a your patience.
Geor.
Sfoot mistris, I warrant these are some cheating
companions.
Can.
Looke you Gentleman, theres your ware, I thank
you, I haue your mony; heare, pray know my shop, pray
let me haue your custome.
Wife
Custome quoth a.
Can.
Let me take more of your money.
Wife
You had need so.
Pio.
Harke in thine eare, thast lost an hundred duckets.
Cast.
Well, well, I knowt: ist possible that Homo,
Should be nor man, nor woman: not once mooud;
No not at such an iniurie, not at all!
Sure hees a pigeon, for he has no gall.
Flu.
Come, come, y'are angry tho you smother it:
Yare vext ifaith, confesse.
Can.
Why Gentle-men
Should you conceit me to be vext or moou'd?
And thats no Argument I am angry: no,
The best Logitian can not proue me so.
Flu.
oh, but the hatefull name of a pennyworth of lawne,
And then cut out, ith middle of the peece:
Pah, I guesse it by my selfe, would moue a Lambe
Were he a Lynnen-draper 'twould ifaith.
Can.
Well, giue me leaue to answere you for that,
Were set heere to please all customers,
Their humours and their fancies: offend none:
We get by many, if we leese by one.
May be his minde stood to no more then that,
A penworth serues him, and mongst trades tis found,
Deny a pennorth, it may crosse a pound.
Oh, he that meanes to thriue with patient eye,
Must please the diuell, if he come to buy.
Flu.
O wondrous man, patient boue wrong or woe,
How blest were men, if women could be so.
Can.
And to expresse how well my brest is pleasde,
And satisfied in all:
George.
fill a beaker.
Exit George.
Ile drinke vnto that Gentleman, who lately
Bestowed his mony with me.
Wife
Gods my life,
We shall haue all our gaines drunke out in beakers,
To make amends for penny worths of lawne.
Enter Georg.
Can.
Here wife, begin you to the Gentleman.
Wife
I begin to him.
Can.
George, filt vp againe:
Twas my fault, my hand shooke.
Exit George.
Pio.
How strangely this doth showe?
A patient man linkt with a waspish shrowe.
Flu.
A siluer and gilt beaker: I haue a tricke to worke vp
on that beaker, sure twil fret him, it cannot choose but vexe
him.
Seig.
Castraichio, in pittie to thee, I haue a cōceit, wil saue
thy 100. Duckets yet, twil doot, & work him to impatience.
Cast.
Sweet Fluello, I should be bountiful to that conceit.
Flu.
Well tis enough.
Enter George.
Can.
Here Gentleman to you,
I wish your custome, yare exceeding welcome.
Cast.
I pledge you
Seig.
Candido, heere you, that must receiue
a 100. Duccats.
Ile pledge them deepe yfaith Castruchio,
Signior Fluello?
Flu.
Come: play't off: to me,
I am your last man.
Cand.
George, supply the cup.
Flu.
So, so good honest George,
Here Signior Candido, all this to you.
Cand.
Oh you must pardon me, I vse it not.
Flu.
Will you not pledge me then?
Cand.
Yes, but not that:
Great loue is showne in little.
Flu.
Blurt on your sentences, Sfoot you shall pledge
mee all.
Cand.
Indeed I shall not.
Flu.
Not pledge me? Sblood, Ile cary away the beaker then.
Cand.
The beaker! Oh! that at your pleasure sir.
Flu.
Now by this drinke I will.
Cast.
Pledge him, heele do't else.
Flu.
So: I ha done you right, on my thumbe naile,
What will you pledge me now?
Cand.
You know me syr, I am not of that sin,
Flu.
Why then farewell:
Ile beare away the beaker by this light.
Cand.
Thats as you please, tis very good.
Flu.
Nay it doth please me, & as you say, tis a very good one:
Farewell Signior Candido.
Pio.
Farewell Candido.
Cand.
Y'are welcome gentlemen.
Cast.
Heart not mou'd yet?
I thinke his patience is aboue our wit,
Geor.
I told you before mistresse, they were all cheaters.
(Exeunt.
Wife
Why foole, why husband, why madman, I hope
you will not let'em sneake away-so with a siluer and gilt
beaker, the best in the house too: goe fellowes make hue and
cry after them.
Cand.
Pray let your tongue lye still, all wil be well:
Come hither George, hye to the Constable,
And in calme order wish him to attach them,
And a thing partly done in meriment,
Tis but a size aboue a iest thou knowst,
Therefore pursue it mildly, goe be gone,
The Constabl's hard by, bring him along, make hast againe.
Wife
O y'are a goodly patient Woodcocke, are you not
now?
See what your patiēce comes too: euery one sadles you, and
rydes you, youle be shortly the common stone-horse of
Myllan: a womans well holp't vp with such a meacocke, I
had rather haue a husband that would swaddle me thrice a
day, then such a one, that will be guld twice in halfe an hower,
Oh I could burne all the wares in my shop for anger.
Cand.
Pray weare a peacefull temper, be my wife,
That is, be patient: for a wife and husband
Share but one soule between them: this being knowne,
Why should not one soule then agree in one?
(Exit.
Wife
Hang your agreements: But if my beaker be gone.
Enter Castruchio, Fluello, Pioratto, and George.
Cand.
Oh, heare they come.
Geor.
The Constable syr, let'em come along with me,
because there should be no wondring, he staies at dore.
Cast.
Constable goodman Abram.
Flu.
Now Signior Candido, Sblood why doe you attach vs?
Cast.
Sheart! attach vs!
Cand.
Nay sweare not gallants,
Your oathes may moue your soules, but not moue me,
You haue a siluer beaker of my wiues.
Flu.
You say not true: tis gilt.
Cand.
Then you say true.
And being gilt, the guilt lyes more on you.
Cast.
I hope y'are not angry syr.
Cand.
Then you hope right, for I am not angry.
Pio.
No, but a little mou'de.
Cand.
I mou'd! twas you were mou'd, you were brought hither.
Cast.
But you (out of your anger & impatience,)
Caus'd vs to be attacht.
Cand.
Nay you misplace it.
And not of any wrath, had I showne anger,
I should haue then pursude you with the lawe,
And hunted you to shame, as many worldlings
Doe build their anger vpon feebler groundes,
The mores the pitty, many loose their liues
For scarce so much coyne as will hide their palme:
Which is most cruell, those haue vexed spirits
That pursue liues, in this opinion rest,
The losse of Millions could not moue my brest.
Flu.
Thou art a blest man, and with peace dost deale,
Such a meeke spirit can blesse a common weale.
Cand.
Gentlemen, now tis vpon eating time,
Pray part not hence, but dyne with me to day.
Cast.
I neuer heard a carter yet say nay
To such a motion. Ile not be the first.
Pio.
Nor I,
Flu.
Nor I,
Cand.
The constable shall beare you company,
George call him in, let the world say what it can,
Nothing can driue me from a patient man.
(Exeunt.
Enter Roger with a stoole, cushin looking-glasse and chafing-dish. Those being set downe, he pulls out of his pocket, a violl with white cullor in it. And 2. boxes, one with white, another red painting, he places all things in order & a candle by thē singing with the ends of old Ballads as he does it. At last Bellafront (as he rubs his cheeke with the cullors, whistles within.
Ro.
Anon forsooth.
Bell
What are you playing the roague about?
Ro.
About you forsooth: I me drawing vp a hole in your
white silke stocking.
Bell.
Is my glasse there? and my boxes of complexion?
Ro.
Yes forsooth: your boxes of complexion are
here I thinke: yes tis here: her's your twe complexions,
and if I had all the foure complexions, I should
nere set a good face vpont, some men I see are borne vnder
hard-fauourd plānets as well as women: zounds I looke
damnably, theres knauery in dawbing I hold my life, or else
this is onely female Pomatum.
Enter Bellafronte not full ready, without a gowne, shee sits downe, with her bodkin curles her haire, cullers her lips.
Bell.
Wheres my ruffe and poker you block-head?
Ro.
Your ruffe, your pocker, are ingendring together vpon
the cup-bord of the Court, or the Court-cup-bord.
Bel.
Fetch e'm: Is the poxe in your hames, you can goe
no faster?
Ro.
Wood the pox were in your fingers, vnlesse you could
leaue flinging; catch.
Exit.
Bell.
Ile catch you, you dog by and by: do you grumble?
Cupid is a God, as naked as my naile,
She sings.
Ile whip him with a rod, if he my true loue faile.
Ro.
Thers your ruffe, shall I poke it?
Bel.
Yes honest
Ro.
no stay: pry thee good boy, hold here,
Downe, downe, downe, down, I fall downe and arise, downe, I neuer shall arise.
Ro.
Troth M. then leaue the trade if you shall neuer rise.
Bell.
What trade? good-man Abram.
Ro.
Why that, if down and arise or the falling trade.
Bell.
Ile fall with you by and by.
Ro.
If you doe I know who shall smart fort:
Troth Mistris, what do I looke like now?
Bell.
Like as you are: a panderly Sixpenny Rascall.
Ro.
I may thanke you for that: in faith I looke like an old
Prouerbe, Hold the Candle before the diuell.
Bell.
Vds life, Ile sticke my knife in your Guts and you
prate to me so: What?
How now sir knaue, you forget your dutie, vmh, vmh.
Marry muffe Sir, are you growne so daintie; fa, la, la, &c.
Is it you Sir? the worst of twentie, fa la, la, leera la.
Pox on you, how doest thou hold my glasse?
Ro.
Why, as I hold your doore: with my fingers.
Hell.
Nay pray thee sweet hony
Ro.
hold vp handsomely
Ro.
I said so too last night, when our Fleas twing'd me.
Bell.
So Poke my ruffe now, my gowne, my gown, haue I my fall?
Wher's my fall Roger?
One knocks.
Ro.
Your fall forsooth is behind,
Bell.
Gods my pittikins, some foole or other knocks.
Ro.
Shall I open to the foole mistresse?
Bell.
And all these bables lying thus? away with it quickly,
I, I, knock & be dambde, whosoeuer you be. So: giue the
fresh Salmon lyne now: let him come a shoare, hee shall
serue for my breakefast, tho he goe against my stomack.
Roger Fetch in Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto.
Flu.
Morrow coz.
Cast.
How does my sweete acquaintance?
Pio.
Saue thee little Marmoset: how doest thou good
pretty roague?
Bell.
Well, Godamercy good pretty rascall.
Flu.
Roger some light I pry thee.
Ro.
You shall Signior, for we that liue here in this vale
of misery, are as darke as hell.
Exit, for a candle.
Cast.
Good Tabacco, Fluello?
Flu.
Smell?
(Enter Roger.
Pio.
It may be tickling geere: for it plaies with my nose already.
Ro.
Her's another light Angell, Signior.
Bell.
What? yon pyed curtal, whats that you are neighing?
Ro.
I say God send vs the light of heauen, or some more
Angels.
Bell.
Goe fetch some wyne, and drinke halfe of it.
Ro.
I must fetch some wyne gentlemen and drinke halfe of it.
Flu.
Here Roger
Cast.
No let me send pry thee,
Flu.
Hold you canker worme.
Ro.
You shall send both, if you please Signiors.
Pio.
Stay, whats best to drinke a mornings?
Ro.
Hypocras sir, for my mistres, if I fetch it, is most deare to her.
Flu.
Hypocras! ther then, her's a teston for you, you snake
Ro.
Right syr, her's iij.s.vi.d. for a pottle & a manchet
Ex.
Her's most herculaniā Tobacco, ha some acquaintāce?
Bel.
Fah, not I, makes your breath stinke, like the pisse of a
Foxe. Acquaintance, where supt you last night?
Cast.
At a place sweete acquaintance where your health
danc'de the Canaries y'faith: you should ha ben there.
Bell.
I there among your Punkes, marry fah, hang-em:
scorn't: will you neuer leaue sucking of egs in other folkes
hens neasts.
Cast.
Why in good troth, if youle trust me acquaintance,
there was not one hen at the board, aske Fluello.
Flu.
No faith Coz; none but Cocks, signior Malauella
drunke to thee.
Bel.
O, a pure beagle; that horse-leach there?
Flu.
And the knight, S. Oliuer Lollilo, swore he wold bestow
a taffata petticoate on thee, but to breake his fast with thee.
Bel.
With me! Ile choake him then, hang him Mole-catcher,
its the dreamingst snotty-nose.
Pio.
Well, many tooke that Lollio for a foole, but he's a
subtile foole.
Bel.
I, and he has fellowes: of all filthy
dry-fisted knights, I cannot abide that he should touch me.
Cast.
Why wench, is he scabbed?
Bel.
Hang him, heele not liue to bee so honest, nor to the
credite to haue scabbes about him, his betters haue em: but
I hate to weare out any of his course knight-hood, because
hee's made like an Aldermans night-gowne, facst all with
conny before, and within nothing but Foxe: this sweete
Oliuer, will eate Mutton till he be ready to burst, but the
leane iawde-slaue wil not pay for the scraping of his trēcher.
Pio.
Plague him, set him beneath the sault, and let him not
touch a bit, till euery one has had his full cut.
Flu.
Lord Ello, the Gentleman-Vsher came into vs too,
marry twas in our cheese, for he had beene to borrow mony
for his Lord, of a Citizen.
Cast.
What an asse is that Lord, to borrow money of a
Citizen.
Bell.
Nay, Gods my pitty, what an asse is that Citizen to
lend mony of a Lord.
Enter Matheo and Hypolito, who saluting the Company, as a stranger walkes off. Roger comes in sadly behind them,
Matheo.
Saue you Gallants, signior Fluello, exceedingly
well met, as I may say.
Flu.
Signior Matheo, exceedingly well met too, as I may
say.
Ma.
And how fares my little prettie Mistris?
Bell.
Eene as my little pretie seruant; sees three court dishes
before her, and not one good bit in them: how now?
why the diuell standst thou so? Art in a trance?
Ro.
Yes forsooth.
Bell
Why dost not fil out their wine?
Ro.
Forsooth tis fild out already: all the wine that the signior
has bestowde vpon you is cast away, a Porter ranne a
litle at me, and so fac'st me downe that I had not a drop.
Bel.
Ime a curst to let such a withered Artichocke faced-Rascall
grow vnder my nose: now you looke like an old he
ca, going to the gallowes: Ile be hangde if he ha not put vp
the mony to cony-catch vs all.
Ro.
No truely forsooth, tis not put vp yet.
Bell.
How many Gentlemen hast thou serued thus?
Ro.
None but fiue hundred, besides prentices and seruingmen.
Be.
Doest thinke I e pocket it vp at thy hands?
Ro.
Yes forsooth, I feare you will pocket it vp.
Bel.
Fye, fye, cut my lace good seruant, I shall ha the mother
presently I'me so vext at this horse-plumme.
Flu.
Plague, not for a scald pottle of wine.
Ma.
Nay, sweete Bellafronte, for a little Pigs wash.
Cast.
Here Roger, fetch more, a mischance. Yfaith Acquantance.
Bell.
Out of my sight, thou vngodly puritanical creature.
Ro.
For the tother pottle? yes forsooth.
Exit.
Bell.
Spill that too: what Gentleman is that seruant? your
Friend?
Ma.
Gods so a stoole a stoole, if you loue me Mistris entertaine
this Gentleman respectiuely, & bid him welcome.
Bell.
Hees very welcome, pray Sir sit.
Hip.
Thankes Lady.
Flu.
Count Hypolito, ist not? cry you mercie signior, you
walke here all this while, and we not heard you? let me bestow
we know the fashions ath house.
Cast.
Please you be heere my Lord.
Tabacco.
Hipo.
No good Castruchio.
Flu.
You haue abandoned the Court I see my lord since
the death of your mistresse, well she was a delicate piece-beseech
you sweete, come let vs serue vnder the cullors of your
acquaintance stil: for all that, please you to meete here at my
lodging of my cuz, I shall bestow a banquet vpon you.
Hipo.
I neuer can deserue this kindnesse syr.
What may this Lady be, whom you call cuz?
Flu.
Faith syr a poore gentlewoman, of passing good cariage,
one that has some sutes in law, and lyes here in an Atturnies
house.
Hipo.
Is she married?
Flu.
Hah, as all your punks are, a captens wife, or so!
neuer saw her before, my Lord.
Hipo.
Neuer trust me a goodly creature.
Flu.
By gad when you know her as we do, youle swear she is
the prettiest, kindest, sweetest, most bewitching honest ape
vnder the pole. A skin, your satten is not more soft, nor
lawne whiter.
Hipo.
Belike then shees some sale curtizan.
Flu.
Troth as all your best faces are, a good wench.
Hipo.
Great pitty that shees a good wench:
Ma.
Thou shalt ha isaith mistresse: how now signiors?
what? whispering? did not I lay a wager I should take you
within seuen daies in a house of vanity.
Hipo.
You did, and I beshrew your heart, you haue won,
Ma.
How do you like my mistresse?
Hipo.
Well, for such a mistresse: better, if your mistresse
be not you master.
Ma.
Sfoote you shall not leaue vs.
Bell.
The gentleman likes not the tast of our company,
Omni.
Beseech you stay.
Hipo.
Trust me my affaires becken for me, pardon me.
Ma.
Will you call for me halfe an houre hence here?
Perhaps I shall.
Ma.
Perhaps? fah! I know you can sweare to me you wil,
Hip.
Since you will presse me on my word, I will.
Exit.
Bell.
What sullen picture is this seruant?
Ma.
Its Count Hipolito, the braue Count.
Pio.
As gallant a spirit, as any in Millan you sweete Iewe,
Flu.
Oh hees a most essentiall gentleman, coz.
Cast.
Did you neuer heare of Count Hipolitos acquaintance?
Bell.
Mary muffe a your counts, & be no more life in'em.
Ma.
Hees so malcontent! sirra Bellafronta, & you be honest
gallants, lets sup together, and haue the count with vs:
thou shalt sit at the vpper end puncke.
Bell.
Puncke, you sowcde gurnet?
Ma.
Kings truce: come, ile bestow the supper to haue
him but laugh.
Cast.
He betraies his youth too grosly to that tyrant malancholy.
Ma.
All this is for a woman.
Bell.
A woman! some whore! what sweet Iewell ist?
Pio.
Wod she heard you.
Flu.
Troth so wud I.
Cast.
And I by heauen.
Bell.
Nay good seruant, what woman?
Ma.
Pah.
Bell.
Pry thee tell me, abusse and tell me: I warrant hees
an honest fellowe, if hee take on thus for a wench: good
roague who:
Ma.
Byth Lord I will not, must not faith mistresse: ist a
match sirs? his night, at Th'antilop: I, for thers best wine, and good boyes.
Omni.
Its done at Th'antilop.
Bell.
I cannot be there tonight.
Ma.
Cannot? bith lord you shall.
Bell.
By the Lady I will not: shaall!
Flu.
Why then put it off till fryday: wut come then cuz?
Bell.
Well.
Enter Roger.
Ma.
Y'are the waspishest Ape. Roger, put your mistresse
in mind to sup with vs on friday next: y'are best come
like a madwoman without a band in your wastcoate, & the
lynings of your kirtle outward, like euery common hackney
that steales out at the back gate of her sweet knights lodging
Goe, goe, hang your selfe.
Cast.
Its dinner time Matheo, shalls hence?
Omni.
Yes, yes, farewell wench.
Exeunt.
Bell.
Farewell boyes: Roger what wine sent they for?
Ro.
Bastard wine, for if it had bin truly begotten, it wud
not ha bin ashamde to come in, her's vi.s. to pay for nursing
the bastard.
Bell.
A company of rookes! O good sweete Roger, run to
the Poulters and buy me some fine Larkes.
Ro.
No woodcocks?
Bell.
Yes faith a couple, if they be not deare.
Ro.
Ile buy but one, theres one already here.
Exit.
Enter Hipolito.
Hipo.
Is the gentleman (my friend) departed mistresse?
Bell.
His backe is but new-turnd syr.
Hipo.
Fare you well.
Bell.
I can direct you to him.
Hipo.
Can you? pray,
Bell.
If you please stay, heele not be absent long.
Hipo.
I care not much.
Bell.
Pray sit forsooth.
Hipo.
I'me hot.
Hipo.
If may vse your roome, ile rather walke.
Bell.
At your best pleasure-whew-some rubbers there.
Hipo.
Indeed ile non: Indeed I will not: thanks.
Pretty-fine-lodging. I perceiue my friend
Is old in your acquaintance.
Bell.
Troth syr, he comes
As other gentlemen, to spend spare howers;
If your selfe like our rooft (such as it is)
Your owne acquaintance may be as old as his.
Hipo.
Say I did like; what welcome should I find?
Bell.
Such as my present fortunes can afford.
Hipo.
But would you let me play Mathæos part?
Bell.
What part?
Hipo.
Why imbrace you: dally with you, kisse:
Faith tell me, will you leaue him, and loue me?
Bell.
I am in bondes to no man syr.
Hipo.
Why then,
Y'are free for any man: if any, me.
But I must tell you Lady, were you mine,
You should be all mine: I could brooke no sharers,
I should be couetous, and sweepe vp all.
Bell.
O fate!
Hipo.
Why sigh you Lady? may I knowe?
Bell.
T'has neuer bin my fortune yet to single
Out that one man, whose loue could fellow mine.
As I haue euer wisht it: ô my Stars!
Had I but met with one kind gentleman,
That would haue purchacde sin alone, to himselfe,
For his owne priuate vse, although scarce proper:
Indifferent hansome: meetly legd and thyed:
And my allowance reasonable-yfaith,
According to my body-by my troth,
I would haue bin as true vnto his pleasures,
Yea, and as loyall to his afternoones,
As euer a poore gentlewoman could be.
Hipo.
This were well now, to one but newly fledg'd,
And scarce a day old in this suttle world:
Twere prettie Art, good bird-lime, cunning net:
But come, come, faith-confesse: how many men
Haue drunke this selfe-same protestation,
From that red tycing lip?
Bell.
Indeed not any.
Hipo.
Indeed? and blush not!
Bell.
No, in truth not any.
Hipo.
Indeed! in truth! how warily you sweare?
Tis well: fill it be not: yet had I
The ruffian in me, and were drawne before you
But in light cullors, I doe know indeed,
You could not sweare indeede, But thunder oathes
That should shake heauen, drowne the harmonious sphers,
And pierce a soule (that lou'd her makers honour)
With horror and amazement.
Bell.
Shall I sweare?
Will you beleeue me then?
Hipo.
Worst then of all,
Our sins by custome, seeme (at last) but small.
Were I but o're your threshold, a next man,
And after him a next, and then a fourth,
Throwne out to the full length, why let me tell you:
I ha seene letters sent from that white hand,
Tuning such musicke to Matheos eare.
Bell.
Mathæo! thats true, but beleeue it, I
No sooner had laid hold vpon your presence,
But straight mine eye conuoid you to my heart.
Hipo.
Oh, you cannot faine with me, why, I know Lady,
This is the common passion of you all,
To hooke in a kind gentleman, and then
Abuse his coyne, conueying it to your louer,
And in the end you shew him a french trick,
And so you leaue him, that a coach may run
Betweene his legs for bredth.
Bell.
O by my soule!
Not I: therein ile proue an honest whore,
In being true to one, and to no more.
Hipo.
If any be disposde to trust your oath,
Let him: ile not be he, I know you feine
All that you speake, I: for a mingled harlot,
Is true in nothing but in being false.
What! shall I teach you how to loath your selfe?
And mildly too: not without sense or reason.
Bell.
I am content, I would faine loath my selfe,
If you not loue me.
Hipo.
Then if your gratious blood be not all wasted,
I shall assay to doo't.
Lend me your silence, and attention, you haue no soule,
That makes you wey so light: heauens treasure bought it,
And halfe a crowne hath sold is: for your body
Is like the common shoare, that still receiues
All the townes filth. The sin of many men
Is within you, and thus much I suppose,
That if all your committers stood in ranke,
Theide make a lane, (in which your shame might dwell)
And with their spaces reach from hence to hell.
Nay, shall I vrge it more, there has bene knowne,
As would ha stuft an Hospitall: this I might
Apply to you, and perhaps doe you right:
O y'are are as base as any beast that beares,
Your body is ee'ne hirde, and so are theirs.
For gold and sparkling iewels, (if he can)
Youle let a Iewe get you with christian:
Be he a Moore, a Tartar, tho his face
Looke vglier then a dead mans scull,
Could the diuel put on a humane shape,
If his purse shake out crownes, vp then he gets,
Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits:
So that y'are crueller then Turkes, for they
Sell Christians onely, you sell your selues away.
Why those that loue you, hate you, and will terme you
Lickerish damnation: wish themselues halfe sunke
After the sin is laid out, and ee'ne curse
Their fruitlesse riot, (for what one begets
Another poisons) lust and murder hit,
A tree being often shooke, what fruit can knit?
Bell.
O me vnhappy!
Hip.
I can vexe you more;
A harlot is like Dunkirke, true to none,
Swallowes both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch,
Blacke-doord Italian, last of all the French,
And he sticks to you faith: giues you your diet,
Brings you acquainted, first with monsier Doctor,
And then you know what followes.
Bell.
Misery.
Ranke, stinking, and most loathsome misery.
Hip.
Me thinks a toad is happier then a whore,
That with one poison swells, with thousands more
The other stocks her veines: harlot? fie! fie,
You are the miserablest Creatures breathing,
The very slaues of nature: marke me else,
You put on rich attires, others eyes weare them,
You eat, but to supply your blood with sin,
And this strange curse ee'ne haunts you to your graues.
Like Beares and Apes, y'are bayted and shew tricks
For money; but your Bawd the sweetnesse licks.
Indeed you are their Iourney-women, and doe
All base and damnd workes they list set you to:
So that you n'ere are rith; for doe but shew me,
In present memory, or in ages past,
The fayrest and most famous Courtezan,
Whose flesh was dear'st; that raisd the price of sin,
And held it vp; to whose intemperate bosome,
Princes, Earles, Lords, the worst has bin a knight,
The mean'st a Gentleman, haue offred vp
Whole Hecatombs of sighs, & raind in showres
Handfuls of gold, yet for all this, at last
Diseases luckt her marrow, then grew so poore,
That she has begd, e'ene at a beggers doore.
And (wherin heau'n has a finger) when this Idoll,
From coast to coast, has leapt on forrayne shores,
And had more worship, thē th'outlandish whores;
When seuerall Nations haue gone ouer her,
When for eache seuerall City she has seene,
Her Maydenhead has bin new, & bin sold deare:
Did liue wel there, & might haue dyde vnknown,
And vndefam'd; back comes she to her owne,
And there both miserably liues and dyes,
Scornd euen of those, that once ador'd her eyes,
As if her fatall-circled life, thus ranne,
Her pride should end there, where it first began.
What do you weepe to heare your Story read?
Nay, if you spoyle your cheeks, Ile read no more.
Bel.
O yes, I pray proceed:
Indeed 'twill do me good to weepe indeed.
Hip.
To giue those teares a rellish, this I adde,
Y'are like the Iewes, scatterd, in no place certain,
Your daies are tedious, your houres burdensome:
And wer't not for full suppers, midnight Reuels,
Dauncing, wine, ryotous meetings, which doe drowne,
And bury quite in you all vertuous thoughts,
They haue no power to looke so high as heauen,
Youde sit and muse on nothing but despayre,
Curse that deuil Lust, that so burnes vp your blood,
And in ten thousand shiuers breake your glasse
For his temptation. Say you taste delight,
To haue a golden Gull from rize to Set,
To meat you in his hote luxurious armes,
Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dreame
Of warrants, whips, & Beadles, and then start
At a dores windy creake: thinke euery Weezle
To be a Constable: and euery Rat
A long tayld Officer: Are you now not slaues?
Oh you haue damnation without pleasure for it!
Such is the state of Harlots. To conclude,
When you are old, and can well paynt no more,
You turne Bawd, and are then worse then before:
Make vse of this: farewell.
Bel.
Oh, I pray stay.
Hip.
See Matheo comes not: time hath bard me,
Would all the Harlots in the towne had heard me.
Exit.
Bel.
Stay yet a little longer, no: quite gone!
Curst be that minute (for it was no more.
So soone a mayd is chang'd into a Whore)
Wherein I first fell, be it for euer blacke;
Yet why should sweet Hipolito shun mine eyes;
For whose true loue I would becom pure-honest,
Hate the worlds mixtures, & the smiles of gold:
Am I not fayre? Why should he flye me then?
Faire creatures are desir'd, not scornd of men.
How many Gallants haue drunk healthes to me,
Out of their daggerd armes, & thought thē blest,
Enioying but mine eyes at prodigall feasts!
And does Hipolito detest my loue?
Oh, sure their heedlesse lusts but flatered me,
I am not pleasing, beautifull nor young,
Hipolito hath spyed some vgly blemish,
Eclipsing all my beauties: I am foule:
What! has he left his weapon heere behind him,
And gone forgetfull? O fit instrument
To let forth all the poyson of my flesh!
Thy M. hates me, cause my bloud hath rang'd:
But whē tis forth, then heele beleeue I me chāng'd.
Hip.
Mad woman, what art doing?
Enter Hipo.
Bel.
Eyther loue me,
Or split my heart vpon thy Rapiers poynt:
Yet doe not neyther; for thou then destroyst
That which I loue thee for (thy vertues) here, here,
Th'art crueller, and kilst me with disdayne:
To die so, sheds no bloud, yet tis worse payne.
Exit Hipol.
Not speake to me! not bid farewell! a scorne!
Hated! this must not be, some meanes Ile try.
Would all Whores were as honest now, as I.
Exeunt.
| The Honest Whore, With The Humours of the Patient Man, and the Longing Wife | |